


a hole in the world

by Roccolinde



Series: where you used to be [2]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Modern AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2020-08-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:41:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25719745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roccolinde/pseuds/Roccolinde
Summary: Undercover and alone, Brienne shouldn't make a phone call.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Series: where you used to be [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1746907
Comments: 18
Kudos: 68





	a hole in the world

**Author's Note:**

> nossbean prompted _Pining with post breakup_ for a few sentence prompt meme, and instead I ended up with almost 600 words, which is why it's getting posted here for posterity. Basically, my brain went _Hey, what about that AU where the basic premise of which is some seriously handwavey “Brienne and Jaime are both cops and Brienne has to go undercover in the search for Sansa Stark, and they have to end their never-quite-defined relationship when she does?_ " and I was fucked. It remains as horny as the other rest of the series, and about as carefully edited. 🤣

It was well past midnight when Brienne stumbled into her long-term motel room, cigarette smoke and cheap beer clinging to every pore. She should shower, fall into bed, grab a few hours sleep before she had to head out of town for a rendez-vous with her handler. She pulled the rickety chair from the corner instead, prayed it would hold her steady, and reached for the third ceiling tile from the door. Shifting it up, her hand reached into the darkness, grasped the small box she knew was there. She pulled it out and climbed off the chair, moving to sit on the bed instead. 

The phone made a soft hum as it came to life in her hands, the tiny screen lighting up green and casting a strange glow. She could call him. _Hello, Jaime, I’m so lonely, won’t you talk to me?_

His voice would purr down the line, sleep-rough and delicious, _Take your shirt off_ , he’d say, so she did. _Good. And your pants._ She wiggled out of the jeans, kicked them across the room. _I bet you’re blushing_. She was, she could feel the heat on her face. _Will you talk to me?_

 _No._ It was too much, even in her mind. Fuck, the things they’d done, before… She missed it, but the idea of saying it, shaping her mouth to say it--

 _That’s okay,_ he’d say. _What colour are your underwear?_

_I said I wasn’t talking._

He’d chuckle. _I’ll imagine they’re black then._

 _With lime green polka dots_ , she’d reply, just to hear him chuckle again.

The edges of the phone bit into her palm when she clenched her hand, breaking her fantasy. She could call him, but she _can’t_ , and so she’ll have this instead.

 _Lie back_ , he’d say. _Touch yourself._ She headed for the waist of her underwear, but he’d click his tongue, _Not like that. It’s not a race._

_Fuck you._

_Would that I could, Tarth. You’ll have to do it for me. Now, slowly. Your neck, your collarbone._ Her hands skimmed over both, stirring her awareness, stoking it. _Now lower._ His breath would hitch here, _Gods, your muscles. You could fight off a godsdamned bear._ She bit her lip, laughter and irritation warring even at the Jaime in her mind. _Does it feel nice?_

_A little._

_Should be more than a little. Help a guy out here._

_What about you?_ she’d challenge. 

_Not as good as your cunt, but I’ll make do._

_You’re so crude, Jaime._

_Remember that trip to the Vale?_

It had been for work, shortly after they’d started sleeping together. The rooms had been nothing special, but the showers had been huge and his mouth had been filthy and she thanked the gods that Jaime was rich enough to pay for the damage to the showerhead. (It was his fault anyway, she’d insisted, and had refrained from describing her orgasm as cataclysmic despite Jaime’s adamance.)

He fell silent in her mind, the space that would exist filled with soft sighs and grunts, a muffled shout through the cheap speaker when he came, her fingers working, working, _fuckfuckfuck_ , burning, aching, _pleasepleaseJaime_ , and then he’d whisper her name and she arched, moaned, rode the peak into oblivion. 

Sometime later, she looked at the phone still clasped in her hand--the screen had turned off, and she knew she should turn it off again, put it back. She closed her eyes instead, and promised she would do it in the morning. 


End file.
